


let's just take a holiday, you and i

by notcaycepollard



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson and Daisy act out their classic film feelings, F/M, Roman Holiday, Rome - Freeform, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5431784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you want to... well, why don't you take a little time for yourself?" he asks, and Daisy knows, knows, he's falling back on a quote, can't resist playing along.</p>
<p>"Maybe another hour..." </p>
<p>"Live dangerously," Coulson tells her. "Take the whole day."</p>
<p>"I could do some of the things I've always wanted to," Daisy laughs, touches him lightly on the wrist. "Do just whatever I liked, the whole day long. Do you want to take a holiday, Coulson?"</p>
<p>"I am on holiday," Coulson says. "I thought, perhaps, you could join me."</p>
<p>"Okay," Daisy agrees, reckless. "Sure. Why not."</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's just take a holiday, you and i

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



> future fic, post 3x10, because Roman Holiday is a perfect film 
> 
> (there are obviously dialogue lines straight from that film because hello it is the dreamiest and most perfect thing)

Daisy's thought about seeing Coulson again. She's thought about it for days, weeks, months. At first she'd expected, hoped, that he'd walk back into the Playground, step back into the center of things like the fixed point he's always been.

"Let him go," May tells her, more than once, "let him grieve, he just needs space."

She understands that. After a while, she's stopped hoping, worked to resign herself. Coulson's been with SHIELD all his life. Perhaps what he needs is a different life. Perhaps what he needs is no duty hanging over him like a weight ready to fall. She lets him go.

She doesn't expect to see him, from the corner of her eye, lingering near the Fontana della Barcaccia in the Piazza di Spagna. He's in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar unbuttoned, suit jacket flung casually over one shoulder. His face is serious but not grim, watching the crowd. He looks relaxed, she thinks, maybe at peace. Maybe like he's found the space he needs.

Daisy buys a cone of raspberry gelato, perches at the bottom of the Spanish Steps, eats her ice cream slowly and with simple pleasure. Keeps one eye on him, one eye for the mark she's supposed to be tracking. She can feel his vibrations, now that she's looking, and she feels the moment he spots her, feels it register. She doesn't know whether he'll acknowledge her. She eats another bite of gelato, deliberately looks away.

"Fancy seeing you here," he says after a moment, and she turns, smiles impulsively.

"Coulson," she says, "hi, I..."

"You're not tracking me, are you?" he asks, shoves his hands in his pocket, and Daisy laughs, nibbles her cone.

"No," she tells him, "no, I didn't even know you were... I'm on surveillance. It's, uh..." She drifts off, suddenly realizes that of course she can't share operational information with Coulson. Is he even an agent anymore? She doesn't know, and it fills her with confusion.

"Well," Coulson says after a beat. "I hardly recognized you. You cut your hair again?"

"Yes," Daisy says, touches the short curls a little self-consciously. "Training accident. One of my new recruits accidentally caught me with something approximately a hundred times worse than chewing gum. Only casualty was the hair, though."

"I like it," Coulson says, looks at her intently.

"Do you?" she asks, and he nods.

"Very much," he agrees. "Very Audrey Hepburn." Daisy laughs.

"Well, Mr Coulson, I have a confession to make," she says, arch. "I ran away last night, from school." Coulson smirks and then laughs outright, gives her an appreciative look.

"Enjoying Rome?" he asks, and she nods, finishes her gelato.

"I mean," she says, "it's better than my last visit to Italy, anyway." She regrets the words as soon as they come out of her mouth; Coulson flinches, looks away, briefly clenches his jaw. "Sorry," she adds, "sorry, I... anyway, I haven't really seen much of it. You never do on mission, right?"

"I guess not," Coulson murmurs, looks back at her like he's trying to find something he recognizes in her face. She knows she's changed. He's changed, too, but this Coulson, relaxed and easy, he looks so much like the man she met, she can barely stand it.

"Anyway," she says, "I'd better..."

"Your mission, right," Coulson realizes, shifts a little awkwardly. "Actually, I.. is it urgent?"

"No," Daisy replies. "Not at all, really. Why?"

"I..." Coulson says, trails off, glances away and then back at her. "Do you want to... well, why don't you take a little time for yourself?" he asks, and Daisy knows,  _knows_ , he's falling back on a quote, can't resist playing along.

"Maybe another hour..." 

"Live dangerously," Coulson tells her. "Take the whole day."

"I could do some of the things I've always wanted to," Daisy laughs, touches him lightly on the wrist. "Do just whatever I liked, the whole day long. Do you want to take a holiday, Coulson?"

"I am on holiday," Coulson says. "I thought, perhaps, you could join me."

"Okay," Daisy agrees, reckless. "Sure. Why not."

 

 

The cafe is exactly as dreamily Italian as Daisy's always imagined, and when Coulson orders iced espresso, she can't resist, asks the waiter for champagne, gives him a cheeky grin across the table.

"You're really taking this holiday to heart, huh," he teases her, and oh, it makes her heart ache a little, this Coulson who can joke with her, who can smirk like nobody's business, but it's good, too, it's so good.

"If I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it right," she shrugs. "When else am I going to get the chance to sit at a sidewalk cafe like this?"

"I'm sorry," he says, and she's confused, doesn't know what he's apologizing for. "I mean, I know I've been gone, but I still watch the news. I'm sorry it's so hard for you at the moment. Registration, I mean, and the rest."

"Oh," she murmurs. "Right." Now she understands, and he's not wrong. When she thinks about it, she can't remember the last time she sat at a sidewalk cafe, or ate in a diner, or ventured into public feeling properly safe or free at all. Things go awkwardly silent, and she studies her hands, chews her lip. 

"Are, uh... how's everyone doing?"

"We're good," she tells him, gazes out across the square. "It's... it's hard, yeah, but we're okay. Mack's a good Director, and he's working a lot with May now. My team's great, Joey's really come a long way, he's essentially my second-in-command now."  _We all miss you_ , she doesn't say, but Daisy knows she wears her heart on her sleeve. Coulson can probably see it all over her face.

"Joey?" he asks, sounding a little confused. "Not Mr Campbell?"

"Oh," Daisy murmurs. "No, he- he  _left_ , Coulson."

"I'm sorry," Coulson says, looks contrite, and she shrugs.

"It was a while ago," she says easily. "It's fine." It  _is_ fine, is the thing. She misses Coulson more than she misses Lincoln, and that, too, he can probably read just from the set of her shoulders. Just in time, her champagne arrives, with a paper straw, even, and she sits back in her chair, blows the wrapper at Coulson, sips her drink thoughtfully. "He left because of me," she adds, feels like it's important to say, not to elide over. "Because we didn't work out. Turns out he was only ever with SHIELD because of me, and when things didn't go the way we thought they would, he, uh. Well. He left."

"I'm sorry," Coulson says again, pauses a long moment. "I left despite you."

"I know," Daisy tells him. "I know."

"I just..." Coulson says, drinks his espresso. "Everything was a reminder. I couldn't..."

"Coulson," Daisy whispers. "It's okay." She reaches out impulsively, presses her fingers over his, and this time, he looks down at their hands, looks up at her, smiles just a little.

"So," he says. "Am I going to get in trouble, running around town with a hot princess?"

"I texted May," Daisy admits. "I figured she'd understand. So, no. Unless you've got a friend who's going to sell photos of me to... never mind." She bites her lip again, furious that she'd managed to bring Rosalind up so stupidly, but Coulson just lets out something that could be a laugh or a sigh.

 

 

"Well, what next?" Coulson asks when they leave the cafe, and Daisy shrugs, shoves her hands in the pockets of her skirt.

"You tell me," she says. "Sightseeing? Got a Vespa scooter, Coulson?"

"Of course I do," he says. "I'm in Rome, aren't I? You'll forgive me if I don't let you drive, though. I've seen how it ends, I'd rather not talk us out of a traffic arrest." Daisy cracks up, bumps her shoulder against his, knows she can't stop smiling.

The drive to the Colosseum feels too close to perfect, Daisy thinks, with her arms wrapped around Coulson's chest, her cheek against his shoulder. Six months ago, a year ago, he'd never have let her get this close, she's sure of it, but now when she slides her arms around him, presses close, she'd feel his heartbeat pick up and his breath hitch even without any of her powers. It feels like a dream. She wonders what he's done, how he's found this peace, can't resent his leaving when it's given him so much back.

They wander the Colosseum, toss coins into the Trevi fountain, are jostled by tourists as if they're utterly unremarkable. In the Pantheon, Daisy can't help it, stands in the center and looks up to the sky, closes her eyes, feels the vibrations. 

"It's incredible," she tells Coulson, "the architecture, I've never felt anything like it."

"Really?" he asks, looks at her with something like wonder, and she remembers how he's always looked at her like that about her powers.

"Yeah," she says, glances away and then back. "Yes."

"I'd take you to the Mouth of Truth next," Coulson says very dryly, "but it'd feel a little mean, doing that trick with this hand."

"It only bites your hand off if you're a liar," Daisy points out, and Coulson smiles a little.

"Hmmm," he agrees.

"What have you been lying about, Coulson?"

"Oh," he says, "all sorts of things."

"You want to come clean?"

"Maybe someday," Coulson murmurs, looks down at her, and she wants to look away again, doesn't, holds his gaze.

When they get outside, it's almost sunset, and Daisy can't help it, leans in against him again without thinking, feels him hesitate and then slide his arm around her a little. 

"I missed you," she admits. "We missed you."

"I know," Coulson says. "I missed you too. Felt like a coward leaving that way."

"You ever think about coming back?"

"Every day," Coulson tells her, turns his head to look at her just as he's always done, and it's so familiar, Daisy can't stand it. There's a camera flash, and a souvenir photographer approaches, catches their attention.

"Memento? Two euro?"

"Go on," Daisy says, "buy the photo, I want a keepsake. And also to not leave any evidence." Coulson laughs, pulls out his wallet.

"Just married?" the photographer asks. "Newlyweds?"

"Sure," Daisy agrees, amused, takes the instant photo from him. "We're on our honeymoon."

" _Newlyweds_?" Coulson mutters, taking her by the elbow.

"You don't have to look so worried, I won't hold you to it." She examines the photo as it develops, sees how the photographer's caught the way Coulson looks at her. It's a good photo. She's never seen them from the outside before.

 

 

"Almost the end of the day," she says as they wander across the piazza, "you know what we still have to do."

"Dancing?" Coulson asks, and Daisy nods.

"Yeah," she agrees. "Take me dancing, Coulson."

"The barges aren't down by the river anymore," he says. "But I know a place."

The bar Coulson takes her to is small, intimate, lit by candlelight, and Daisy imagines him sitting here alone, drinking scotch, mulling over his life. There's a band, though, slow music playing, and neither of them say anything, just drift onto the dance floor, step into each other's space. Coulson takes her hand, presses his prosthetic fingers to the small of her back, and she rests her own fingers across his shoulder blade, feels him breathe. They move together for a long moment in silence before Daisy steps back, looks up at him.

"Hello," she says quietly, and Coulson's eyes soften, blur a little.

"Hello," he replies, lets her press her cheek into the hollow of his chest.

"Hit em again, Smitty," she murmurs, her lips almost brushing his throat, and feels him laugh.

"You're not being chased by plain clothes agents, are you?"

"No," she says, "so we won't have to jump into the river."

"What a relief," Coulson quips, "you've already done that once, escaping a situation gone wrong."

"Ian Quinn's," Daisy says. "Jeez, you remember that?"

"Hmm," Coulson says. "That pink dress is hard to forget. Especially the way it clung to you all wet."

"Oh my god," Daisy laughs. "I can't believe you never said anything."

"Well," Coulson says. "I was a superior agent back then. It would have been  _inappropriate_."

"You're not the Director anymore," Daisy whispers, and Coulson's fingers tighten on her back. He leans in, whispers softer, his breath warm against her ear. 

"No," he says, "I guess I'm not," and kisses her, easy as if he's done it a hundred times before. Daisy clutches at him, kisses back, chases after his mouth, and it's what she's wanted since she spotted him in the piazza, what she's wanted since long before he ever left.

"Coulson," she says, and then, "Phil,  _Phil_ ," kissing him again, dragging her fingers up to the nape of his neck, scraping her nails across his scalp.

"We could-" he says. "We could get out of here. I mean. My room isn't nearly as charming as-"

"Phil," Daisy whispers against his mouth. "I really don't care how charming your room is."

 

 

Coulson's not wrong; his hotel room isn't charming, just functional in the way all anonymous hotel rooms are, but Daisy strips him out of his suit, pushes him down into the white sheets, barely looks at the room. She feels like there's no air in her lungs, like her skin's vibrating at the frequency of Coulson's heartbeat, wants to press herself against him until they melt together in a long slide of heat and lust and bare skin. 

She comes with her teeth sunk into Coulson's shoulder, kisses the bite mark a little apologetically, soothes it with her tongue, and Coulson whispers a name she hasn't heard since he left.

"Skye," he says, soft and wondering, "Daisy, god, sorry, I-"

"You can say it again," she tells him, "please?"

"Skye," he whispers again, pulls her on top of him, lets her twine her fingers in his and press his hands into the pillow above his head. "I never thought..."

"You never thought what?" she asks, grinds her hips down into him, feels his heart race.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he admits, "much less that you'd ever want this."

"Coulson," she says, "I've  _always_ wanted this," and leans in, kisses him hard, feels him shudder and come underneath her.

He goes silent afterwards, strokes his hand down her side, looks far away. "What time is it?" she asks drowsily, and he lifts his right hand, checks his watch.

"Almost midnight," he says, and she grabs his hand, kisses his palm.

"You switched wrists," she says, touches her fingers to the strap of the watch. "I thought you'd just never wear it again."

"Seemed stupid not to," Coulson tells her. "It was my father's, one of the only things I have of his now. I just decided one day, to try it on the right wrist, see if I could make it work that way."

"And you did?" Daisy asks, kisses his fingertips one by one.

"I did," Coulson agrees. "Eventually. It took some getting used to."

"Was it worth it?"

"Getting used to it?"

"Yes," Daisy says, trails her fingers light across his scar.

"It was," Coulson agrees. "It is. I just needed time."

 

 

"I should go back to the team," Daisy murmurs a little later, "it's late."

"Do you want to leave?" he asks, and she shakes her head, wraps her arms around him.

"No," she admits. "No. But life isn't always what one likes, is it?"

"No," Coulson agrees, "it's not."

When she pulls herself away, reluctantly gets out of bed, she picks up Coulson's shirt, slides her arms into the sleeves, buttons it up.

"Taking it?" Coulson asks, and Daisy straightens the collar, nods. "It looks good on you," he says. "You should always wear my clothes." She should, Daisy thinks, she should be able to put on Coulson's shirt every morning, to see him in bed like this every day, to kiss him knowing it's not a kiss she has to count.

"Oh," she says, pulls the souvenir photograph out of her pocket. "Here. It's a good photo."

"Keep it," Coulson suggests. "A memento of your holiday." She looks down at it, at the way Coulson's looking at her. It's a good photo. It hurts.

"Will you give me a ride back?" she asks, smooths her hands over the shirt, ignores the way she wants to press herself back against him and never leave.

"Yes," Coulson says. "Okay."

She directs him to a few blocks away from where the team's based, sits for a moment in silence.

"You know how this goes," she whispers eventually, touches his face, and Coulson nods.

"You have to go," he says. 

"I have to go," Daisy agrees. "I have- they need me, Coulson. But just- You know how it goes." She remembers the line. "Promise not to watch me go beyond the corner. Just drive away and leave me as I leave you."

"I don't know how to say goodbye," Coulson says, soft, and Daisy blinks.

"Then don't try," she says, leans up to kiss him, walks away, and it feels like the hardest thing she's ever done.

 

 

Two days later, her phone rings, a number she doesn't recognize, and even before she answers, she knows it's Coulson.

"I'd be concerned about how you got this number if I didn't know you were a former secret agent," she says as soon as she picks up, can hear Coulson smirking all the way down the line.

"So," he says, "I've been thinking. You have a duty to your people. You can't leave. But- but what if I came back, Daisy?"

"Oh," she whispers, "Coulson, that-"

"Do you have faith in me?" he asks, and she presses her hand to her mouth, sits down at her desk.

"Yes," she says, "yes, I do."

"I hope it's not misplaced," Coulson says, "and also- you might need to send a plane to get me. I don't exactly have the resources to get back to the Playground from Rome."

"We're not in the Playground anymore," Daisy teases, "I have my own secret base now. With my own office. My desk's better than yours."

"I don't have a desk," Coulson replies, "so technically, you're the superior agent."

"Well," Daisy replies, "you got rid of levels."

"I suppose I did," Coulson agrees, and Daisy can't stop smiling, can't wait for him to come back.

"Coulson," she whispers, "come home."


End file.
